The Hubby arrived this afternoon from the long drive from Kansas, after spending Christmas with his dad, stepmom, and stepbrother.  Among the various gifts he arrived with, one was his old Casiotone MT-46 keyboard, that the Hubby had when he was eleven years old.  His dad had been keeping the ’80s antique all of this time, and he gave it to the Hubby to give to Daniel.

To say the least, it was a smashing success: keys to pound upon, buttons to push, and sliders to mess with.  Toddler NIRVANA.

I was curious to see what the Internet would yield about the Casiotone MT-46, and I found this:

Okay not that I would want the Hubby’s keyboard to get all tricked out like that.  Daniel went into ferret shock with the Casio just as it originally is. 

But — OMG, that circuit cent Casio is so COOL.  ::waves big old ’80s geek flag::

Thanks to my parents’ edict that gift-giving would be for the grandkids (i.e., the two grandsons), my Christmas gift shopping wasn’t as harried as years past.  Twelve wonderful women at Daniel’s preschool got colorful scarves (yay, Walmart’s women’s accessories department!).  Daniel, as I mentioned in an earlier post, got a Fisher-Price driving toy.  His cousin Vincent got a Transformers hoodie and wool-hat, in addition to a 2010 season’s pass to the local Six Flags.

It was only for the Hubby’s gift that took a bit of legwork — a long, leather coat.  It’s amazing how much men get shafted when it comes to clothing choices in retail stores.  I went to five places, looking for the Hubby’s gift, and it was only at the fifth and last place that I found it:  a men’s black leather trenchcoat, sized small.

Since the Hubby was going to spend Christmas with his father and stepmom in Kansas — which was going to experience blizzard-like conditions before Christmas — the Hubby opened his gift early so that he could use it while in Kansas.  We even went to the same store where I got the coat to get him a cold-weather, black felt hat.

Afterward, we set up the well-used Christmas shrub, setting it on one of the endtables in the livingroom and decorating it with a gold garland and red bows.  No glass tree ornaments this year, as we knew that Daniel would just mess with them. 

The Hubby left very early Wednesday (just an hour past midnight), with his father’s Christmas gift in tow (a Gretch guitar he found in, of all places, an antiques shop in a Grapevine strip mall).   As Wednesday was an unusually warm and beautiful day, Daniel and I spent the morning (after his breakfast) at the nearby park, in the playground area.  As usual, Daniel really liked the slides and the sand.  Later that day (after his nap and post-nap snack), Daniel and I headed to NorthPark Mall.

Unfortunately, we ran into Christmas shopping traffic, and all that stop-and-go made Daniel carsick.    Yes, he threw up.  But after I pulled into a DART parking lot, cleaned him up (thank God for baby wipes and baby powder!), and changed him into a fresh set of clothes, he was all smiles and laughter.  So, since we were almost there, I figured “Why battle the traffic going home and risk car sickness again?”

I’m glad I did that, as Daniel enjoyed NorthPark, especially the Ronald McDonald House Trains and the mall’s dancing water fountain (always a kid favorite).  It was there at the water fountain that a young father, after giving an oatmeal cookie to his very young daughter (I’d guess her age to be about eight months), offered to share some: “I got plenty,” he said, holding up a Christmas-printed baggie.  I thanked him, got one, broke it in half, ate the first half, and then gave the second half to Daniel.

Very much feeling the Christmas spirit.

On early Christmas Eve (which was overcast, drizzly, and a little bit snowy), we headed to the nearby mall and spent the late morning in the kids’ play area, having a lunch of chicken nuggets, fries, apple slices, milk, and water.  While Daniel was down for his nap, I tidied up the house and started packing.  After giving him a very very early dinner, we got ready for Christmas Vigil Mass, packed up the car, and headed for my parents’ parish church, about a half-hour drive’s away.

The snow really started to blow, which was something I hadn’t seen in Texas in a very long time around the Christmas season (sometime in mid-January or early February — yes; Christmas-time — no).    Thanks to the previously warm day yesterday, the wet, icy stuff didn’t stick to the ground just yet, although many of the drivers around me didn’t believe that and drove BADLY.

No surprise that we were late for the Mass.  Fortunately, we were just in time to see the kids’ Christmas pageant, including my nephew’s role as The Little Drummer Boy. 

In my family, gift opening happens after the Christmas Mass.  So, since the family went to the 6pm Christmas Vigil Mass, gift opening happened once everyone got back from church — around 8pm.   Then we ate.

And ate.  And ate.  Much TV watching and eating.  With family. 

Before Daniel and I left for home Saturday night, my brother and his girlfriend took us, his son, and his girlfriend’s nieces to watch the city’s sponsored Christmas lights and Christmas carnival.  Unfortunately, Daniel’s still too small for the more adventurous rides.  But he liked the carousel — always a classic favorite.

And when we got home, we faced two very irate cats:  “Where have you BEEN????”

Oops — I guess I need to Christmas shop for the cats.    Update:  In a catfood and kitty litter grocery run this afternoon, I picked up a package of jingle balls and one of those “fishing” wands.  Merry Christmas, kitties!

I hope everyone’s first day of Christmas has been fun, peaceful, and loving.  Happy Third Day of Christmas, everyone!

I’m a sucker for real-life feel-good stories.

The more uplifting episodes of Oprah.  Extreme Makeover: Homeowner Edition.  The Biggest Loser.

Oh yeah — I’ll watch them, in a heartbeat.

And I know they’re contrived — scripted, edited, polished — all with the goal to hook the audience by pushing tearjerker and then soaring emotions, in order to deliver eyeballs to advertisers.

Yet, I still watch them because, whereas the production companies package the stories for the audience, the real people at the heart of the stories still remain… real people.  It’s a case of “If good things came out of awful situations like these people, then that can happen to anyone — that can happen to ME.”  It’s an act of optimism.

But sometimes the contrived nature of peddling pathos gets even to me, a self-avowed gobbler of pathos.

Case in point: Find My Family.

I’ve seen about two or three episodes of this show, and it does all that one would expect a “reuniting adopted kids with their biological family” show would be: wringing out the tears from the audience, as we hear their tragic stories, and then having our emotions soar as the split family reunite, with joy and much hugging, including the acceptance of the biological family into the adopted family’s life.

But as an adopted kid myself, the stories that make it to the small screen aren’t as representative and as simple as the producers make it out to be.  Of course, it’s understandable why they do it — it’s a reality show, after all, not journalism.  But in this case, the message, “See, this can happen to you, too,” just makes me feel a little sad.

I’m happy for the families whose stories had such happy endings that they got aired.  But it makes me wonder about all those families — all of those adopted kids, searching for their biological parents; all of those biological parents, searching for the kids that they gave up — whose stories didn’t end so happily, who ended up in failure.

It’s no surprise, that all of the situations on Find My Family have been domestic adoptions, that, in most cases, the biological parents and/or siblings and the adopted weren’t that far away from each other.   Overseas adoptions are trickier, fraught with red tape, sovereignty issues, and cultural barriers.  Also, it’s no surprise, that all of the situations on Find My Family have been straight-forward, down-on-their-luck cases: the biological parents were too young, too poor, to take care of the baby, and so they gave up their baby, with hopes that a new family could give him/her what they could not.

Sometimes, babies aren’t born in such simple, cut-and-dry situations like that.  Sometimes their biological parents’ situation is so messy, so awful, that it isn’t a case of financial reasons or maturity that prevents the biological parents from keeping their child, but something else entirely — family politics, hurt feelings, guilt and shame, hate.

And so they give up their child, perhaps to spare them from the hurt.  And it’s those stories — THOSE stories — that will never get aired.  The wrong kind of pathos — doesn’t get the right amount of eyeballs for advertisers.

I don’t blame them — the producers.  And, again, I feel happy for the families, whose stories have happy endings.  It’s just, in the case of adoption, I don’t know if that kind of optimism is horribly unrealistic.

In my case, I don’t want to know.

As requested from a commenter — the lyrics to Elmo’s Ducks:

Elmo had four ducks (quack quack quack quack)
four birds of a feather (quack quack quack quack)
to waddle with (quack quack quack quack)
and quack together. (quack quack quack quack)
But then one day… one swam away
Oh gosh oh gee… Elmo just had three.

Elmo had three ducks (quack quack quack)
three birds of a feather (quack quack quack)
to waddle with (quack quack quack)
and quack together (quack quack quack)
But then one day… one went achoo!
And off he flew… so Elmo just had two.

Elmo had two ducks (quack quack)
two birds of a feather (quack quack)
to waddle with (quack quack)
and quack together. (quack quack)
But then one day… one had to run
to get some sun… then Elmo just had one.

Elmo had one duck (quack)
one bird of a feather (quack)
to waddle with (quack)
and quack together. (quack)
But then one day…  it spun and spun
and got so dizzy… Elmo now had none.

Elmo had no ducks… not even a feather
to waddle with… and quack together.
But then one day… Elmo heard a QUACK!
Oh gosh oh gee… Elmo’s ducks came back!

Here it is, the week of Christmas, and the only gift I’ve bought is Daniel’s… which I got today… which he picked out.  He’s been playing with it (while still in its packaging) all afternoon, and I’ll stick it in a gift bag once I find the stash of gift bags, squirreled away somewhere in the house.

Why the procrastination?

After the massive Christmas card mail-out a couple of weeks ago, I shifted to “finish the semester” mode, which didn’t actually happen until this past Wednesday.  And what with coming down with a persistent cough that prescription meds don’t seem to alleviate too much (but makes me so wonky that I’m spaced-out tired for most of the day), Christmas shopping has been low on the priority list.

But those are just contributing factors.  The real reason I have done little Christmas shopping has been an edict from my parents during Thanksgiving, which another person has also declared in more colorful terms.

Due to the economy (and everyone doing more belt-tightening these days), gift-giving has officially been relegated to the kids.  And since there are only TWO kids — two-year old Daniel and six-year old Vincent — I’ve been loathe to get something that either of them would likely get from the rest of the family.

Clothes, toys, even video games (for Vincent) — those things I can safely assume will be covered by the grandparents, aunts, uncles, and parents.  But what I mostly noticed, during the long Thanksgiving weekend, is that what both boys (but especially my nephew) really need is outside playtime.

On the Saturday after Thanksgiving, I brought both Daniel and my nephew to a playground just a few blocks away from my parents’ house.  For Daniel, this is pretty normal — when the weather is good, I try to have Daniel go to the playground nearby where we live or push him along as he rides his trike.  But for Vincent, who splits his time between his harried mom and stepdad and his equally harried dad and stepmom (usually spending a goodly amount of that time with his often-tired grandparents), most of his play time has been in front of a game console.  Either that, or planted in front of Nickelodeon.

In other words, when I asked Vincent if he had been to the playground before, he answered, “No.”

I’m hoping he just means THAT playground.  But, hearing what his split life is like, I suspect it’s not just that playground.

So I find myself searching for a gift that will allow him time to play, to go outside, to spend time with his family.  After texting his father (i.e., my brother), I’ve narrowed it down to either a season pass to Six Flags, or gift certificates to the Dallas or Fort Worth Zoo.  That’s as close to the “gift of time” that I feel my nephew needs and probably craves (even though he doesn’t have the words for what he’s feeling).

As for the rest of the gifts — I have something in mind for the Hubby, and then the various wonderful women who look after Daniel at his preschool.

I will be busy, shopping, tomorrow!

YAY.

First, the last of the Hubby’s school loans are now paid off, as of yesterday.  $17, 310.46 — BAM!  It’s gone.

What does this mean?

It means that the only debt that the Hubby has now is the mortgage.  Period.

Speaking of the mortgage…

Second, we are in the process of having the mortgage refinanced.  $42,000 remaining balance, from the original 6.5% 30-year fixed, refinanced to a 4.375% 15-year fixed.

What does this mean?

Our mortgage payment — fingers crossed — will drop from $985 a month to $611 a month, starting this coming February.  That’s LESS the rent of a three-bedroom apartment.

Simply put: Having two solid middle-class incomes but having the expenditures (and thus the consumer habits) as if we are the working poor is paying off.

No, I’m not advocating this — it’s not for everyone.  But if a person is the type who naturally leans towards simplicity and budget-thinking, this kind of financial strategy may just be the right path to reaching those financial milestones we keep hearing about, when folks pontificate about “the American Dream.”

Yikes — not much real blogging lately!  Between trying to have a semblance of Thanksgiving with family AND catching up on essay grading, all of  my time has been getting ready for this hell of a semester over and done with, while having some semblance of a home life.  (Vacuuming?  What vacuuming?  We’ll just wear SOCKS.)

Here’s hoping for a backlog of blogging (back-blogging?) once I get a TEENY-TINY breather before the true hellish part of the semester, next week – FINALS WEEK.

A bit more grading before I hit the sack — TTFN!